I Believe In Father Christmas
by eyeamrachel
Summary: It was true that Charity Calvin, the daughter of Scott Calvin, believed in Santa. It was also true that she was sixteen years old. And yet, throughout the many years of hardships and troubles, she could never have imagined the journey she and her father were about to embark on.
1. Chapter 1

A rather sleepy Charity Calvin lay on her father's uncomfortable sofa, legs stretched out over dust and crumbs of some long ago eaten food. Her Walkman was set to repeat on a 1974 song by Greg Lake, though she kept forgetting the title of the song. It had something to do with a man who strongly believed in 'Father Christmas,' so she dubbed it as 'I Believe In Father Christmas.'

Had her father not been dodgy about technology (as silly as it sounded), she would have known that she was in fact correct, in regards to the song. But perhaps the reason she even considered it her most absolute favorite Christmas song was because of the lyrics:

"And I believed in Father Christmas

And I looked at the sky with excited eyes

'till I woke with a yawn in the first light of dawn

And I saw him and through his disguise"

Yes, Charity Calvin, age sixteen, believed in Father Christmas. It wasn't a very strong feeling, but it was enough of a belief to get her teased at her high school.

"Char, for the last time, Santa doesn't exist." her best friend Rosa had said.

And Charity would respond: "Just because you can't see something, doesn't mean it isn't there."

She might as well tell Charity that Jesus wasn't real. Rosa had never seen Jesus and claimed to be a strong believer in Christ...so why not become a believer of Santa?

Scott Calvin had no insight pertaining to his daughter's mindset.

In fact, all he was really concerned with was not burning the house down. The turkey was, as it usually was, a no-go for this Christmas. He and Laura were divorced, which meant juggling a teenager back and forth between the two. And he had very little cooking experience. How fortunate.

So, after a nice meal of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with a side of celery sticks, Charity sat with a partially full stomach, admiring the Christmas tree on the other side of the living room.

Nearly an hour had past, and her fingers were becoming numb from holding her Walkman. She took that as a sign to head upstairs.

She made her way into the kitchen, where she found her father sitting at the table, looking, if not, more tired than she was. Paperwork was sprawled out in front of him, alongside a now cold cup of coffee.

"Dad, you do realize it's Christmas Eve."

Scott sat up, startled, wiping the side of his mouth with his jacket sleeve.

"Sorry, Char, I didn't see you there."

He paused briefly, stacking the paperwork in a pile as nearly as possible.

"So," Charity drawled, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You shouldn't be working."

Scott didn't look up at his daughter. Instead, he sipped what was left of his coffee, running his other hand through his light hair.

"You're right." He stated simply, pushing the papers aside. He turned to look up at her.

"I'm sorry. And I'm sorry if you didn't want to be here with me. You know, tonight."

Charity offered a saddened smile.

"No, no don't apologize, dad. In fact, I wanted to spend Christmas with you this year." That may have only been a half-truthful statement, but Scott smiled, teeth and all, up at his only child.

"Thank you, Charity. I love you." He stood, offering her a hug.

She accepted, standing on her tiptoes and avoiding entanglement of her headphones.

"I love you more, dad."

He chuckled, releasing her. "I highly doubt that."

Charity kissed his cheek before announcing that she was tired. She expected him to head up as well, but to her disappointment, he stayed put in the kitchen. Upon arriving into her room, Charity glanced sideways at the alarm clock, which read 10:30, by her makeshift bed. Well, she didn't really have a bed. It was more of a sleeping bag on a level, something similar to a Japanese futon.

After all, she couldn't afford a bed with all the canvases in her room.

Smiling at her paintings, Charity began dressing into a dark, over sized T-shirt and David Bowie pajama bottoms. Popping her Walkman headphones back in, she turned around to examine herself in the mirror. Her dark, unruly hair was as wild as every, sticking up as though a can of hair spray had been dumped onto her head. Her freckles were more prominent, as they had been the older she'd gotten. At least they weren't acne.

And her figure. Oh God, it was like she couldn't decide whether or not puberty had taken it's toll. She was bigger, not fatter, but wider in the legs and arms, than most teenage girls. Her wrists and waist was thin, though her stomach rounder, yet without a spare tire. The loose pajamas hid her well, and that was exactly how she liked to feel.

Well hidden and concealed from the world.

Slipping under her sleeping bag, Charity's mind began to recap the events of the night. Her father had been arguing with Laura again, she didn't know what about, but she pretended not to notice. She had become quite good at eavesdropping over the years.

And, dear Lord, she had forgotten to ask her dad about Santa Claus. Not if he believed exactly, just...if he had any inklings. Scott never had denied the Christmas myth, yet she had the feeling that he may have believed in his younger years. But now...

Now she was on her own. Not that it was difficult to discuss things like this with her father. Charity just assumed he wouldn't understand.

God, she was childish.

* * *

The next time Charity got a look at the clock, she could barely make out 12:40. So she had fallen asleep. Her train of thought had come to a halt. The Walkman was still rolling to Greg Lake, now in the process of rewinding.

She rolled over, suddenly feeling the need for a drink of water. Tiptoeing towards the bathroom, she could her the sounds of snoring coming from the bedroom down the hall. So Scott was finally sleeping.

That's when she heard it.

THUMP.

Resting the cup on the sink counter, she coughed slightly, the water running down her throat. It settled unpleasantly in her stomach as she poked her head outside the doorway, scanning for any sign of life.

It came again.

THUMP. THUMP.

That was all Charity needed, before she sprinted down to Scott's room, prepared to open the door. To her surprise, he beat her to it, his eyes wide with concern, yet clouded over with sleep.

"You heard it too?" He half whispered.

Charity nodded frantically.

"Y-yes. Someone is on t-the roof!"

The pair ran down the stairs, managing to grab their coats, and burst out the front door. Charity nearly slipped on the icy steps, her bare feet screaming out in protest of the cold weather.

Scott was scoping out the roof, until his eyes rested on a red-cloaked figure. Charity couldn't make it out, as the cold affecting her feet wasn't helping the adjustment. Though she couldn't shake the tingling sensation she felt in her stomach. Could it be...on top of her house...on Christmas Eve?

"Hey, you!" Scott yelled, pulling Charity back into reality.

The figure...man, stood up in shock, and missed his footing. He yelped, slipping on the roof and sliding down. Charity didn't realize that the man had just fallen to his death and now lay in a crumpled heap in front of the house.

Both father and daughter approached the figure with caution, blinking hard.

Charity was first to speak.

"Y-you...you KILLED him." She sounded on the verge of tears.

"Oh my God, you killed Santa-

"Did not. And he's not Santa." Charity hadn't even realized she'd mentioned his name.

Scott didn't even glance at his daughter, instead beginning to search the man...the now dead man's pocket.

"He must have some sort of ID."

He quickly glanced down at still figure.

"Look, buddy. Just trying to find some identification. I'll- I'll give you a lift back to the mall or something."

Moments later, Scott found what he was looking for. A small, white card. Charity peered over his shoulder, boldly reading what was inscripted aloud.

"lf something should happen to me, put on my suit. The reindeer will know what to do."

A lump caught in her throat.

Scott tucked the card away. Charity could now see him properly and noticed that he only had on briefs, a shirt, and jacket.

"Yeah, right." Said Scott flatly.

Charity noticed that the still-lying figure had now vanished, leaving behind his sprawled clothing...which resembled a Santa Claus attire rather closely.

"Dad. He's gone." She whipped around, making sure he hadn't run off.

"Great, he's naked somewhere."

If the situation hadn't been this dire, Charity would have happily laughed at her father's jokes. But she was still experiencing a nervous stomachs and tingling feet.

The sound of crunching snow reached Charity's ears. Her dad had walked over to a ladder...a ladder which had not existed a minute ago.

"Where the hell did this come from?" Scott exclaimed.

"My thoughts exactly."

This was all wrong. Christmas wasn't supposed to be about strangers falling off your roof of your house. And he shouldn't have reindeer, either.

The reindeer.

Nearly at once, Charity gripped the ladder, ignoring for once the cold sensation in the soles of her bare feet.

Scott could of had an aneurism. "Charity! Get down from there! It's not safe!"

She kept climbing. She had to keep climbing. What if this was all real? What if it wasn't a nightmare? What if-

Upon meeting the sight on the roof, Charity inhaled sharply, allowing her eyes to take in as much as they could handle.

"Dad," she breathed. "You've got to see this."

Scott was now making his way towards the roof, the bundle of Santa clothes held in one arm.

"Look, honey. Don't touch anything. I'll call the cops. Just let me...handle..." He stopped, and stared just as hard as Charity had.

8 reindeer attached to a sleigh.

And Charity was already making her acquaintance with one at the front.

"Charity, stay away from those things!"

Charity glanced down at the friendly beast, noticing a name tagged on the side that read 'Comet.'

"They all look like they have lime disease." mumbled Scott.

Charity didn't hear him.

"You are a very handsome reindeer, Comet." she said, scratching underneath his chin. His ears twitched with delight and Charity giggled, as the reindeer nudged against her hand.

She looked up at her father.

"Dad...I think this might be Santa's sleigh."

"There is no such thing as Santa's sleigh." He didn't notice the hurt look on Charity's face.

"It's probably just a gift," he continued mumbling. "From the the cable company."

Charity slowly walked around the the other side of the sleigh, stepping up to sit in the front. If this was a dream, now, it was a dream come true. She began to admire the craftsmanship of the design of the sleigh.

Scott, who was in the back placing the clothes down, leaned over to where Charity was.

"Listen, Charity. We need to get out of here." He licked his lips, eyes darting back and forth. "...we...we need to go!"

As if waiting for a cue, the sleigh was pulled into motion, the reindeer picking up tremendous speed.

Charity had no time to react, whereas Scott flung forward head-first next to Charity, his boots sticking up out of the sleigh.

Before long, the two Calvin's were soaring high above the clouds.

And man, had Charity never felt better in her life.


	2. Chapter 2

Hello, hello! eyeamrachel here, getting ready for my most favorite holiday! :) I haven't written in a very long time and have always had a hard time sticking to stories, so I made a goal to finish a fic...and here it is! Happy Christmas! (And excuse any mistakes; I'm terrible when it comes to editing.)

* * *

The reindeer had landed an hour later, in what appeared to be an ice wasteland. Scott and Charity, after delivering what was the last of the presents, much to Scott's displeasure, sat huddle together. Charity's nose was bright pink, and she buried her side into the warmth of the Santa suite, which she somehow managed to convince her father to wear. She peeked out from the fabric, welcomed by the sight of ice caps and newly fallen snow.

'This must be the North Pole.' thought Charity.

"Uh, guys? Does this look like home to you?" Scott asked the 8 reindeer. Both anger and tiredness had taken over his features.

The reindeer, not having been phased by Scott's comment, filed together in two rows, scampering off to an unseen location. Scott, obviously took that as a sign of abandonment. Charity took it as a sign of hope.

"Oh, come on!" growled Scott. "Where are you going? Get back here!"

Charity jumped in her seat, clinging quickly to Scott.

He glared down at her, her curls whipping his face in the cold wind.

"What? What is it?"

She pointed over towards where the reindeer had disappeared to. A small, dare she say, child was approaching them with a knowing look on his face.

"Hey, buddy!" Scott yelled. "Can you hear me?"

The child-like being did not pay attention. Instead, he rubbed his hands, bending over what looked like piles of ice and snow.

Charity's eyes widened as something similar to a barber shop pole twisted up from the grounds below.

"W-what's going on?" asked Scott, watching as the child typed in a specific code that appeared on the side of the pole. It clicked, and Charity felt the ground below her tremble.

"I...I think we're at the North Pole." she said quietly.

The child caught Charity's eye, and winked, before disappearing as quickly as he had came. She watched, astonished, as the sleigh was lowered into an underground dome.

It was suddenly noisier. And brighter. Like the child she had seen moments ago, there were more, surrounding the sleigh, some running around and laughing, paying no attention whatsoever at the Calvin's arrival. Others were watching with smiles as the sleigh finally ended it's descent.

Charity became overwhelmed with the feeling of nervousness, as though she were something being goggled at in a zoo. The butterflies had returned to her stomach.

"Where are all the grown-ups?" asked Scott, mainly to himself.

"...I don't know." said Charity, marveling at the sights around her. She had never been in a room with...so much colorful.

"Beautiful..." she sighed.

"Stay here." ordered Scott, hulling himself out of the sleigh.

He hurried over to a group of children. "Hey, kid. Kid! Who's in charge here?"

The girl gave him a blank look.

"You are. And I'm not a kid. I have pointy shoes that are older than you." She turned on her heel, but not before adding,

"I'm an elf."

Charity felt her mouth drop. 'These...these are elves?'

Scott, not registering what the young elf had just said, rambled on.

"Uh, you guys, or you girls. Who gives the orders? Who's your boss?"

"You are."

Charity, lowering herself from the sleigh, stifled a laugh, as she ran over towards her father, who was still trying to get answers out of the elves.

"Who's the head elf?"

"You are!"

"Hey! Who's causin' all the trouble around here?"

Charity saw whom she presumed to be another elf, though he was much taller than most of the elves here. His eyebrows furrowed together, and eyes set on Scott.

"She is." said Scott, pointing to the she-elf he had just been arguing with. She, in turn, yelled, "He is!" At the exact same moment.

The taller elf turned to face her, a scary look plastered on his face.

"Excuse me, are we on a coffee break?"

"We don't drink coffee." The she-elf said bluntly.

"Then I guess the break is over!"

Charity flinched, grabbing onto her father's arm.

Scott studied the taller elf. "Who are you?"

"I'm Bernard." stated the elf, now looking a bit more calmed down. "Nice to meet ya, Santa."

Charity knew he had hit a nerve.

"I'm not Santa! Look, I've had a rough night and-

The tall elf, Bernard, turned his gaze over to Scott's left.

Charity suddenly wanted to melt into a puddle, right there in the middle of the floor. His eyes were staring at her so intensely, she feared he may have X-ray vision. She tried staring above his eyes, up at his dark curls tucked under his floppy hat, but it was no good in doing so.

"Who is this?" He asked, a bit less calmly than Charity anticipated.

That's when she noticed his ears.

They were normal at the base, like any humans, but as they curves upwards the reached a POINT.

Charity had the sudden urge to touch them.

"You're an elf." She said stupidly.

Bernard smirked. "Yes, thank you for reminding me."

Scott stepped a little ways in front of Charity. "She's my daughter. Now, look, Beh...Beh...Ben-

"Bernard."

"Whatever. I am not SANTA CLAUS."

Bernard huffed, beginning to walk down the halls, still talking to Scott. Charity felt like she was practically jogging to keep up. She shifted her view up at the walls. Ribbons and streamers hung from every which way. Baubles and trinkets plastered like stickers on the surfaces, in the shapes of stars and snowflakes. It was...comforting.

"The other Santa disappeared, right?" asked Bernard to no one in particular

Scott stared up at the ceiling.

"Oh no...I know where this is going." It wasn't my fault. The other guy fell. It was an accident..." He continued to babble on about homeowners insurance until he was finally able to get Bernard to stop.

"Hold it a minute. Wh-Whoa, whoa, whoa."

Bernard glared back at him.

"How did you know the other guy was gone?" Charity had to admit, her dad was right in asking that. How did he know?

However, Bernard completely averted the question. "Can I get you a drink?"

Scott blinked.

"What? No, I don't want a drink!"

Charity took several steps back, losing interest in this argument that was about to ensue. She instead busied herself by watching the elves passing by. How they were adorable!

"Look, Barnaby, I just wanna go home." pleaded Scott.

Bernard, also becoming frustrated with the argument, exhaled, gripping his temples with his hand.

"Did you or did you not read the card?"

At this, Charity faced her father and the head elf, interested.

"D-dad?" she spoke softly.

Her father was oblivious to Charity's input, but Bernard stared at strange girl. Her wild locks of hair fell into her face, hiding her look fear. She looked between the two.

"The card...said that you if you put on the suit, the reindeer would know what to do." She swallowed hard, keeping eye contact with her father.

"If the previous Santa controlled the sleigh and reindeer...t-that makes you the new Santa."

Scott open and closed his mouth at Charity like a fish out of water. He looked at Bernard for any signs of confirmation.

The head elf grinned.

"Bright girl you have there."

Charity flushed.

"You can't be serious." groaned Scott.

"Look, in putting on the hat and jacket you accepted the contract."

"What contract?"

"The card in the Santa suit. You said you read it, right? So when you put on the suit, you fell subject to the Santa Clause."

Charity, as nervous as the head elf made her, smiled. No longer did she have to convince her dad of the existence in Father Christmas...but father was the Christmas myth himself!

Scott was, however, having a much worse of a time coping with this than Charity.

He fished out the card from the Santa suit.

"Yes, that's your contract." said Bernard, swiping it out of Scott's grip and leading them towards the center of the room. They arrived at something resembling a large magnifying glass.

Bernard proudly held the card underneath, beckoning Scott to take a gander.

"ln putting on this suit and entering the sleigh," read Bernard,

"The wearer waives any and all rights to any previous identity, real or implied, and fully accepts the duties and responsibilities of Santa Claus...in perpetuity until such time that wearer becomes unable to do so...by either accident or design."

"What does that mean?" asked Scott lamely.

"It means you put on the suit, you're the big guy."

"That's ridiculous. I didn't put on the suit just to-"

"TRY TO UNDERSTAND THIS!"

At Bernard's shout, Charity jumped so badly her left foot landed on Scott's.

"Oo-oo-ooh!" teased the surrounding elves.

"Sorry," apologized Bernard, glancing in haste at Charity.

"S'okay." she muttered.

He regarded back to Scott.

"Let me explain something to you, okay? Toys have to be delivered. I'm not gonna do it. It's not my job. I'm just an elf. It's Santa's job, but Santa fell off a roof...your roof.

"You read the card, you put on the suit. That clearly falls under the Santa Clause."

"Question."

"What?" Bernard was losing his patience.

"When do I...we leave?

"Tomorrow morning. You have 11 months to get your affairs in order, and you're due back here Thanksgiving."

"I can't come back here on Thanksgiving!"

Bernard heaved a sigh.

"Just...I'll ship the list to your house."

"What list?"

Charity looked helplessly up at her dad.

"Dad...the list." She whispered.

"What are you talking about?"

Charity met Bernard's eyes, the two exchanging looks of uneasiness. For the first time since she arrived, Charity realized that the head elf was under a lot of stress working here.

"Come on, now. The list." Repeated Bernard.

He hesitated. "He's makin' a list..."

"Checkin' it twice." whispered Charity

"GONNA FIND OUT WHO'S NAUGHTY OR NICE." The whole workshop burst into song.

"Yeah," said Bernard, who felt slightly put off. "Look, you put a 'P' next to the kids who are nice and a 'C' next to the naughty ones."

"P" and "C?"

"P for present and C for coal.

"Wait a minute, how do I know who's good and bad?"

The head elf rolled his eyes. "You'll know."

"What if I don't want to do this?"

Bernard glared daggers at Scott. "Don't even kid about a thing like that."

"Why not? What if I don't buy into this Santa Clause thing? What if I choose not to believe it?"

The workshop dropped to a dead silence, and pairs of eyes were suddenly watching Scott with either disapproval or hurt.

Charity felt her mouth open. "D-dad," she spoke, louder than usual. "Don't say t-things like that."

"There would be millions of disappointed children around the world. That is, if you made that decision. You believe, right?" He was now talking to Charity.

She nodded slowly, looking down and noticing her still-bare feet.

"See, Scott? You wouldn't want to be responsible for killing the spirit of Christmas, now, would you?

Scott shifted uncomfortably in the over-sized suit.

"Right," said Bernard. "Judy will take you to your room. Get out of the suit. It needs to be cleaned."

Before Bernard could leave, he also added,

"And get some sleep. We've got a lot of work to do and only a year in which to do it."

He set off to God knows where, leaving the two Calvins alone. Well, Charity had subconsciously drifted towards a group of elves who were sewing up little dollies. There were hundreds of different fabrics, in both colors and sizes.

A small blonde elf noticed Charity watching them, and he placed his work slowly on the workbench. His big blue eyes studied her closely.

Charity granted him a warm smile.

"Hullo," she said, marveling at the wonderful toys beside him.

"You have very curly hair." The young elf pointed up at her head, cocking his own slightly.

Charity didn't know whether or not to take it as a compliment. She simply laughed, running her hand through her red mane. "Why, thank you. Are you making dolls for the little girls out there in the world?"

The elf boy didn't answer her. He nodded slightly, avoiding her gaze and returning to the black-haired doll that he had been sewing a frilly pink costume on.

"Charity!" A voice from behind her cried.

Scott hobbled over to his daughter, looking completely exhausted.

"Come on, Char, let's go find Judy. The sooner we go to bed, the sooner we get out of this place."

Charity gave Scott a wistful look.

"I'm not that tired..."

"Yes you are. You just don't know it yet." He grabbed her hand.

"Dad!" She jerked away from his grasp. "What? What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing! It's just..." Charity considered the consequences of telling her dad her intentions, but dismissed the thought. "Dad, we're at the North Pole! Not many kids get to experience this."

Kid. She was calling herself a kid.

Scott raised his eyebrows. "And?"

"And, well...I wanted to go explore a little bit."

"Charity, I really don't think that's a-"

"A-hem."

A small she-elf was standing before the two, with a dark gown and princess hat on her head.

"Judy." deadpanned Scott.

"Santa."

"Scott Calvin."

"Follow me."

Charity was still in attempts of putting on her best puppy eyes, but Scott didn't appear to be persuaded. "Charity, we're in an unknown place with thousands of strangers. You can't just go running off!"

Charity stuffed her hands angrily in her pockets, surprised to feel her Walkman underneath her fingertips. She wondered if it would still work after such a long voyage.

"Is there a problem here?" A pudgy, rather short elf with thin-rimmed spectacles was watching the two with amusement, though trying to maintain a serious demeanor.

"I want to see the workshop." blurted Charity.

"Charity!"

"I'm serious, dad!"

The bespectacled elf looked to Charity with interest. "Ah, so you must be Santa's daughter. Not to worry, sir, your daughter is in good hands."

Scott gaped. Twice he had lost in a feud, and in the same night, as well.

Charity bit her lip. She truly wanted to experience...well, one may call it freedom. It hadn't been a relaxing week and she wasn't as nearly as drowsy as Scott. Slowly, she reached up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

"You'll be okay." she assured him. "You just need some sleep and a little faith."

"I agree with Charity. You need a good, long sleep." piped up the elf.

"It's not me that I'm worried about being okay." said Scott into Charity's curly hair. They broke apart and he kissed her forehead, nearly changing Charity's mind.

"Sweet dreams, dad." Slipping one hand back into her pocket, she held onto her Walkman, following behind the bespectacled elf.

She didn't turn back.

"Oh, where are my manners?" exclaimed the elf. "My name is Curtis, second elf in command."

Charity grinned, shaking his open hand.

"Charity Calvin. Pleasure to meet you, Curtis."

Charity secretly pinched herself as they strolled down the brilliant passageways of Santa's workshop.

'Welcome to your new life, Charity.'


	3. Chapter 3

Curtis was a real gentlemen of an elf, Charity didn't even have to admit it. He was one of the few that didn't make her feel as if she should be listening to her Walkman while he was talking. Typically, especially at school, Charity would hull around her Walkman, just to be away from people to ignore any immature things they had to say about her.

She wasn't the most popular pupil in the junior student body.

Part of her believed it to be because of her hair. Most girls wanted golden, straight hair, or hair that could be curled up with big rollers. Charity was blessed with long, flowing red curls, though it was considerably a curse at high school to have red hair, or something. Even Rosa had slipped up one day by calling her a Ginger.

"Oh my God," Caitlin, one of the girls on the higher end of the spectrum had said. "It's like...like her hair is on the rag!" She and a group of her groupies were keeling over, laughing in the bathroom. Little did they know, Charity was listening in, just around the bend.

"And-and the c-clothes!" snorted another, Peyton. "The 1970's, like, threw up on her!"

Were all people that stupid?

Charity hand handled the teasing, as it wasn't as bad as it had been in junior high. But, Lord, weren't they tired of all of it? Sure, she dressed different and had different tastes in music. But there were so many other people in the school that were strange as well.

Like freshman, for example.

Charity assumed she just didn't have the mentality of a girl-girl. Just a girl.

A girl that had a dad for Santa Clause and was now receiving an free, unofficial tour of the North Pole.

Curtis had arrived at another station, a cafe that was ran part-time by elf volunteers. He had offered her a drink and she had tried to kindly decline, though he insisted that she needed the energy. In the end, he had brought over to their table a cup of tea, for Charity, and a mug of hot chocolate for himself.

"Wait, elves drink hot chocolate...like an substance necessity?"

"Well, I guess you could call it that." Curtis pondered over this for a bit, sipping thoughtfully at his beverage. "It's kind of like what coffee is for humans. Provides the essential caffeine to keep our gears running."

"Wow. So it's that important."

The two laughed, Charity hiccuping slightly. She brushed her hair out of her eyes.

"So, do you work everyday or get the weekends off...like humans?" Charity wanted to be careful to not make her kind sound so alien. Come to think of it, she really didn't believe elves were so different from the human race. The simply had pointy ears and overly ingested hot chocolate.

"Elves are required to work at least 6 days a week." explained Curtis. "Though we usually all come in on Sundays, as well, the hours are not as long. However if we are ahead of schedule, then it's okay to have a day off every once in a while."

Charity's eyes widened, as she drank from her tea, which was marvelous. "Sounds like hard work." She paused, staring into her cup. "But...I really like it here."

It was true. She hadn't felt more at home like this since her and her parent's vacation when she was little. They had rented a log cabin for two weeks. There was a Christmas tree on the inside and the kitchen smelled like her Grandma's house. Now, thirteen years later, Charity felt the same feeling, warming up inside of her chest.

"Glad to hear it!" Charity felt like she was zoning out more and more. "You'll be around more than you think."

"Curtis!" A harsh voice rang out in the cafe, as a certain head elf approached the two at high speed.

Charity resisted the urge to crawl underneath the table.

Curtis stood from his chair. "Hello, Bernard."

"Don't you 'hello Bernard' me." hissed the fuming head elf. "You were supposed to be on wrapping supervision!" He glared over at Charity, who attempted to hide her face behind the tea cup by sipping casually.

"What's she doing with you?"

Curtis looked innocently up at Bernard. "Santa said I could show her around. You know, familiarize herself with the workshop."

Bernard snatched the mug away from Curtis. Charity didn't let go of her's until she was certain that Bernard wasn't using the mug for purposes of assault.

"Just...get down there. The problem should be fixed by now."

"Problem?"

"Some communications error. Now, go! Today ends in 1 hour!"

_One hour? _thought Charity. _That means it must be nighttime! _

Curtis pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, acknowledging Charity.

"Uh, thank you, Curtis. And I'm sorry if I got you in trouble." She mumbled the second part.

Curtis half smiled. "Don't worry about it. Nice meeting you!"

He scampered off down the stairs to where Charity assumed 'Wrapping' was.

Which left her and Bernard alone.

Charity went followed him towards the cafe back counter, where they sat the beverage cups.

The two remained silent, as Charity couldn't think of anything to say. She had never seen someone so high strung.

"Your feet," Bernard interrupted her thoughts. "Aren't they cold?" He pointed down to the floor, his curls sagging in front of his eyes.

She glanced down at her bare feet.

"Ah...y-yes. I guess so. I didn't have time to grab my shoes..." Charity became aware of how ridiculous she looked. Her David Bowie bottoms and naked feet stood out like a sore thumb. She also felt guilt from earlier on, that burrowed its way in the pit of her stomach.

"I'm really sorry," she started. "You know, about Curtis and all that."

Bernard was starting up his fast-paced strides again, Charity shuffling along beside him. For an elf, he had super long legs.

"Look, don't mention it. It's over and done with. I'm taking you to your room."

"My room?"

"Yes, your room. Unless you would prefer to sleep with your father."

Charity hesitated, not really wanted to converse with the head elf. It seemed like every time he was asked a question or approached by another working elf, the scenario turned into an argument or a yelling session. Not to mention Scott probably wasn't in the mood for company. For all she knew, he was out like a rock.

"What's your name?" asked Bernard, out of the blue.

Blinking fast, Charity spluttered, "C-charity."

"Oh. I didn't catch it when you first arrived."

She pushed her hair out of her eyes. "Don't you know everyone's name?"

Bernard snorted. "We're elves. The big guy knows everyone's name. We just carrying out the orders and such."

He glanced down at her, and she kept her attention to the floor. Lord, she really was strange, wasn't she? Her face began to feel warm, as she kept her eyes low. Charity was suddenly hit with the feeling of tiredness, and her eyes drooped slightly.

"Nice pajamas."

She snapped her head up.

"W-what?"

"David Bowie." He pointed down to her legs. "I assume you listen to him?"

Charity didn't know if he was trying to make small talk, or even trying to impress her, but he actually knew who David Bowie was!

"Yeah, I guess. Y-you know who he his?"

The head elf smirked as the rounded a final corner, coming to a stop in a narrow hallway lined with similar doors.

"Yeah, I've heard of him." stated Bernard flatly, tugging at a set of keys from his satchel.

When he found the one he was looking for, he unlocked the first door on the right, gesturing to the inside. Charity could see a large bed with purple sheets awaiting her from the inside.

"Here's your room. Your dad is back where we came from, except on the left."

Charity didn't really know what to say, other than thank you, which she managed.

"Thanks."

The head elf nodded.

"No problem."

He adjusted his hat, before leaving Charity alone in the spacious room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

That night, Charity fell asleep almost instantaneously after falling onto the plush, queen size-bed.

She didn't even need her Walkman on.

No bad dreams would overcome her, tonight.

* * *

The following morning was a promising Christmas Day. The window of the bedroom was slightly cracked, causing a winter breeze to enter, everything that it came into contact with turning cold to the touch.

Charity awoke with swollen eyes and was hit with the smell of brewing coffee. Her skin tingled with frigidness and her entire body was stiff, so she laid in her bed before her legs and arms cooperated. Sliding her forearms backwards, she heaved herself on one side, only to find the blue, silky fabric of her sleeping bag.

She was back home, in her own room with her own broken window.

"Dammit."

She rushed over to where the window was, shutting it tightly before the room temperature could any further decrease. There were small bits of snow piled against the panes, ice glistening behind on the glass.

Throwing on what would probably be considered an ugly Christmas sweater, not that she cared,Charity rolled up her sleeping bag, tucking the pillows underneath. Sticking them in a corner, she was curious as to wear a mysterious pair of slippers had appeared from, poking out from one of three pillows.

The were ivy green, with the embroider CC written on the side. Examining them one last time, Charity shrugged; guess her dad had a strange taste in slippers, though she wasn't under the impression that he knew she was in need of a pair. Well, okay, she didn't _need_ a pair. She was simply one of the few who didn't own a pair.

SQUUEAK-CHHHHHHHH.

The slippers crashed to the floor, slipping out of Charity's hands as her gaze diverted towards the broken window.

"What the-"

The window, which couldn't really be seen out of from the inside, was dripping with condensation, dark lines appearing over the frost. They were _letters. _

Letters writing themselves from the top of the window, until the sentence had reached an end:

_Weren't from your dad. ~B_

"B?" asked Charity aloud. Somewhere from downstairs, a door slammed. Charity switched her view from the open door and back towards the window. She gasped.

The previous sentence had disappeared, replaced with the same elegant script of an arrangement of letters.

_Bernard_

In this situation, one might say refer to the common phrase, 'seeing is believing,' but Charity trusted her judgment enough to realize that not only was she seeing the handwriting of the head elf, but last night was all completely in _existence. _She didn't know whether or not to jump around her bedroom or scream at the top of her lungs. Both seemed inappropriate at the time, so she offered the window a wide, ear to ear grin.

"Thank you."

The window-Bernard-didn't respond.

"For the slippers, too." added Charity.

Still no writing. It didn't comfort her that the fact that the head elf could see her where she was, probably at this very moment, and was able to communicate through means of the window. Had he disconnected? Had the portal, or whatever she surmised it to be, been shut off?

Charity shook her head from all the thoughts that were beginning to become jumbled up. Speaking of a certain mess, she wasn't even about to dare to stare herself in her reflection. Her hair was a rat's nest, Charity didn't need to see it to believe it.

Following the scent of coffee, Charity shuffled to the stairs in her slippers, meeting a disheveled looking Scott at the bottom of the stairs.

She smirked.

"Nice pajamas."

"Nice slippers."

"Touche."

She continued into the kitchen, Scott closely behind.

"So where did you get them?" she asked, grabbing a mug and pouring herself a cup.

"You're too young to drink coffee." said Scott. Charity looked him straight in the eye. "I'm sixteen, dad. And you didn't answer the question."

"What? About the pajamas." Charity stifled a giggle, drinking heavily from the mug, the hot drink warming the back of her throat. Her eyes abruptly became more awake.

"The pajamas..." thought Scott. He paused, staring into the blackness of the mug. "Did you get them for me?"

Charity burst out laughing, throwing her arms around her father.

"Merry Christmas, Dad."

Dazed, Scott embraced his daughter, his stubble scratching the top of her forehead.

"You, too, Char."

As Charity reached over for her mug, she couldn't help but mull over if Scott was still in denial over the whole Santa Claus ordeal. However, she didn't want to ruin this Christmas, as it was the first she had spent with him on her own.

Setting aside the mug, Charity tightly squeezed her father around the middle, wiggling her toes inside the slippers, her feet finally warm in what seemed like forever.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi, hi, hi! Happy Christmas/New Year! Sorry I haven't been updating as frequently as I used to. Christmas was a bit busy for me this year, along with art projects and such. But I read your guys' comments and I about died from happiness (I handle compliments like a little kid on Christmas: speechless and short of breath, with a huge smile on mah face). I will continue this story, though! Thank you all so much!**

* * *

Charity sat, three hours later, slurping another cup of coffee with her dad at her side. The two were sitting cross-legged in front of the Christmas tree, a sea of wrapping paper flooded around them. Charity wore her plaid Santa hat, her hair poofing out from the edges. Scott, even though it was nearing noon, still stayed in his pajamas. The two were laughing over a picture book, Charity's gift to him, that on the first page had a distraught looking Charity with untamed hair as always.

"You didn't want to be in the picture," exclaimed Scott, after containing his laugh. He let out another bark of laughter, still tickled by the ridiculous expression on the 5-year old Charity's face.

"Well, you obviously got me!" squealed Charity, clutching her new blanket, present from her father. It was covered with snowmen that warped into lumps of snow every time Charity ducked her head into the folds to hide her long periods of continuous laughter.

Scott had claimed that the photo album was his favorite present, even though she got him two things- a pair of fuzzy, red socks that went quite well with his pajamas.

"Here's your mother." Scott said, pointing to a five year younger much had changed over the years, other than her hair had been much longer.

Charity, they had found, inherited Laura's mother's curly hair, whereas she got Laura's grey steel eyes, yet they were more or less shaped like Scott's. Scott had even told her once when he was little that she had happy eyes. Charity had always that she had big eyes, but then again they did squint when she smiled or laughed.

The two continued to reminisce over the photos before the doorbell rang not a moment too soon.

Charity frowned as Scott went greet Neil and Laura, both who wished him a Merry Christmas. Laura grudgingly stood, retrieving her snowmen blanket and her new set of acrylics. She didn't want to leave Scott.

Not after what happened after last night. She contemplated whether or not to keep her mouth shut, which she did. Laura probably would suspect her insane, her own flesh and blood.

"Hi, mom." said Charity, dragging the blanket across the floor. She grinned at Neil. "...and Neil."

Charity never had been close with her stepfather, as much as Laura had insisted they were inseparable. She was more closer to Scott than she would ever be to Neil, though she truly did enjoy spending time with Neil.

He just wasn't Scott.

_Just. _

It made her sound like she was some pretentious jerk.

Charity actually liked his insight on the human mind, as if he could understand the mentality of a seventeen year-old, being a so-called psychiatrist and whatnot. ("He's not a doctor, he's a psychiatrist." Scott had insisted.)

But she really, for some reason, enjoyed how he always wore God-awful sweaters during the holiday season. Plus he was much easier to talk to than Laura. He was a better listener.

"How was Christmas Eve?" asked Laura, giving Scott a more or less stern look.

"Great. It was wonderful, actually."

"Yeah, look what dad got me," said Charity, holding up her snowmen blanket.

"How cute," said Laura, offering a smile towards Scott. "That was a nice gift."

"I try."

He scooted to the side, allowing Charity to walk past him. She wrapped the blanket around herself, hugging him with one arm.

"Thanks again, dad." she told him. She leaned closer to his ear. "Do I...do I have to go?"

He sighed, his coffee breath making Charity's eyes water.

"Sorry, Char. It's only for two weeks. Enjoy your new year while you can."

Turning back to Laura, Charity pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

"All set?" asked Neil cheerfully.

"Yessir." said Charity, marching down the stairs. Laura thanked Scott, following Neil to the car.

"Love the pajamas, Scott!" shouted Neil from the road. From inside the car, Charity giggled at her father's look of bemusement. "They suit you!"

Checking her pockets for her Walkman, Charity stuck the earphones over her ears, waving at Scot as the engine started up and the drove away. Already, Charity was beginning to miss her father.

* * *

The following two weeks consisted of nothing but old Christmas songs, painting, and Neil's ugly sweaters. On New Year's Eve, he let Charity wear one so, in a sense, the looked like Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum, according to Scott.

Charity had snickered at this.

Though she wasn't very open with people, she had learned to accept Neil into the family, probably because she knew his intentions were good. He didn't try to replace Scott. He never talked about Laura's previous relationship with Charity's dad. He was almost like an older brother to Charity. In a...stepfather sort of way.

They watched the Christmas Story and It's a Wonderful Life, staying up past one. Though they had missed the countdown for the first of January, Neil insisted that they still break open the Christmas crackers. There were boxes in the basement of Laura and Neil's house, older than both more than likely. He brought one up that evening, and at a quarter past one, he and Charity split it apart, with a faint POP. Inside was a peach-colored crown with a paper with a Christmas riddle and a woopie-cushion, which Charity managed to break on account of she blew too much air into the toy.

"I never liked them that much anyway." she told him, chuckling.

Laura had gone to bed after midnight, and it was the last time Charity would see her in a while. After New Year's Day, she became more isolated to her room (though it wasn't really her's. Laura and Scott had to guest room's, and this one now housed three canvases, which they had bought her for Christmas.)

She stilled played Christmas music in January, via her Walkman. She didn't leave her room for two days straight, not just because she had become infatuated with her acrylics and canvases, but also because of the fact that her dad was Santa Claus and hadn't come to acceptance with it. There was no way Laura and Neil believed anymore, so she didn't bother mentioning it to them. But Laura became concerned when her daughter only eat raisins and whatever was left of the New Year's meal, and guest bedroom #1 had become infiltrated with the overpowering scent of paint fumes.

Neil had gone back to work, and Laura was still on her break. Charity had four more days until she went back to Scott's. And Laura was becoming more and more worried. So Charity's last day with Laura and Neil, she was surprised to find her daughter sitting at the breakfast bar, eating a bowl of Cheerios.

"Sweetie?"

Charity swiveled around to see her mother holding a laundry basket at the hip. Her eyes held a familiar sadness in them.

"Hey, mom."

"Mmph. Hey, Charity." Laura set the basket on the table, taking a seat next to Charity on her right. Charity already knew where this was going.

"You, uh...you doing okay?" asked Laura.

Charity wanted to roll her eyes. _Yes, I'm doing _okay. _Just being an outcast in school, and hiding the fact that my father will determine the fate of the spirit of Christmas. _

"Yeah, I'm fine." She hesitated. "How about you?"

Laura laughed softly. "I'm great, thanks. You sure there's nothing you want to talk about, honey?"

Charity's eyes moved to the lower left corner, so low that she could see the individual tiles of the surface. A big mistake, of course.

"Nope, nothing. Everything is just fine and dandy." She said it like it was a forced remark. Laura frowned.

"Mom, I know I'm a bad liar. I just..." _Just. _

"Charity, you can tell me anything, you know that. Is this about me or Neil?"

"No."

"School related?"

_In a way. _

"No."

"Scott-er, your father?"

Charity exhaled, pushing the bowl of Cheerios forward. _It's now or never. _

"Mom, do you believe in Santa Claus?"

Laura blinked.

"Well, I...at one point in time I did. Do...do you, Char?"

Only Scott called her Char. "I...I just had a dream on night." lied Charity. "And it was so real. Nah, its' silly, I shouldn't-"

"No! You can tell me." Laura now looked desperate for answers. Yet Charity was still afraid to mention Scott.

"Basically, I've been thinking about it a lot." said Charity. "It was one of those dreams that seemed so real, you know?"

Laura nodded. "Yes. You know, I've had dreams like that too, Charity."

_I highly doubt that._

"If it bothers you that much Charity," said Laura kindly, "We can go to the doctors or a specialist, if you'd like."

Charity shook her head, curls bouncing from side to side. A doctor couldn't help her if he was a world world renowned heart surgeon.

"That's okay, mom. I'm not sick." She smiled. "It'll pass over. I'm just missing dad, is all."

Laura didn't seem convinced, but didn't question her otherwise.

"Alright, then. If you're still worrying about...your dream, you can talk to me or Scott. Sound good?"

"Sounds good."

After Laura had returned to her laundry, Charity finished the rest of her soggy Cheerios and headed back up to her room.

She had been working on a painting over the past week, and it was turning out better than she expected. The canvas was covered with colors of the night sky, over the crystal lake that was visible between a valley of snow. Yellows and dark browns and blacks were used for the neighboring town, that was behind the lake, glowing with the lights of front doors and windows. And there, high above the clouds, was a miniature sleigh and 8 tiny reindeer.

Charity continuing staring thoughtfully at the painting, wondering if she really was sick. Then she thought of two weeks ago, on Christmas morning.

_The pajamas, the slippers, the messages on the window. _

Charity ran her hands roughly through her hair, her side curls springing upwards, stepping over to her bed (which she still wasn't use to; it wasn't the floor. She had actually slept on the floor with as many blankets as she could find).

She was leaving at 3 in the afternoon and her clock on the wall read a quarter 'til. Her bag was packed, though there really wasn't much to take back to Scott's place. Her wardrobe was split up between the two houses.

Her stomach growled, the Cheerios making her throat feel sickly. She didn't know if it was the food or the worrying that was causing her to feel queasy.

_Maybe dad will understand if I talk to him. _

* * *

Scott was happy to see his daughter again.

Charity didn't know what to say.

He had gained a few pounds in his stomach and his face was now covered with more stubble, even though she knew he shaved weekly.

She wanted to say it was because of his dieting or physical level, but another part of her blantly claimed it was his inner Santa exposing itself.

Her painting was careful placed on her easel and she tossed her pillow and slippers on her sleeping bag, wondering if she would sleep better now that she was back in her "normal" room.

She half expected the window to start writing messages, but she was too tired to bother. Charity fell asleep, her face buried into the clutter of pillows.

It was dark when her eyes cracked open. She rolled over, feeling like puking.

_Why am I feeling like this? _

She changed into her David Bowie bottoms and threw on a jumper. She felt bad because she hadn't really said anything to Scott, other than a short hello.

Downstairs, she was surprised to find him at nearly seven o'clock, eating pecan shortbread cookies out of the pantry.

"Dad?"

He froze, as if caught in the act of robbing a bank, but not before stuffing one more into his mouth. He smiled, crumbs falling from his pink lips.

"Hi honey...cookie?" He offered one out towards her. She could of laughed at him, but her stomach and head protested against it.

"No thanks. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Really?" Scott asked, genuinely interested. "Because I wanted to talk to you, as well."

Charity sat down at the table, Scott across from her. She took notice of how he could no longer push his chair close to the table, instead sitting more relaxed, allowing his larger looking belly some space.

"You first." said Charity, rather quickly.

"Nope. Ladies first."

For once, Charity was glad to go first.

"Dad, you and I both know what I want to discuss." Her voice was wavering, even though it sounded determined in her own head.

"Let's hear it."

"Your Santa Claus and I-"

"No, I'm not, Charity." She knew he wasn't kidding because she was no longer 'Char.'

"Dad, please listen. It wasn't a dream. If it were, how come I had the same one?"

Scott didn't answer. He was tapping his index finger on the wood of the table, avoiding Charity's watchful gaze.

"I've also noticed your weight change," continued Charity. "Care to explain that?"

Again, Scott remained silent. Taking a deep breath, he met her eyes.

"Look, I don't know how it happened. Maybe I drank to much coffee that night. And maybe I need to lay off the shortbreads. But I cannot be Santa Claus."

Charity clenched her fists, her voice raising. "Why not?"

"Honey, I have a job. I have a house to take care of. I have...you. And Laura. And..." He grimaced. "And Neil."

Charity couldn't believe what he was saying. She had thought wrong. Not only could she talk to Laura about this, but she even played it frank with Scott and he was still living in denial.

Tears began to form in her eyes.

"Fine." she whispered. Her voice was hoarse. "You can pretend all you want about this. You can run away and avoid it, but I know..._you know _what happened." She stood, pushing the chair in and heading towards the stair case.

Charity was afraid that if she turned around, she would start crying.

_No tears._

* * *

Charity halted on the sixth step, listening to the near silence of the house. There was the soft sound of her dad pushing in his chair at the table and...the even softer noise of footsteps, emanating from the upstairs hallway.

There was someone in Charity's room. She knew that before she even reached the top. The door was wide open, the shadow of the person swaying slowly on the spot, watching the snow fall from outside the broken window.

That damn window.

As quietly as possible, Charity approached the door, taking off her jacket ready to attack whomever was breaking and entering.

Was it a murderer? If so, why come here? Charity racked her brains, thinking over if any valuable was inside her bedroom, worth enough for the intruder to steal. She swallowed the lump in her throat, her hands shaking, as she used her right arm to push the door open slightly more.

The door, bless the wooden thing, remained silent, allowing Charity to buy some time before she had less than five seconds to-

The figured whipped around and Charity went after her prey.

The jacket zipper came down with a forceful slash, cutting across the intruder's cheek and the fabric blocking his or her view. Not knowing what to do, Charity pushed her canvas off of the easel, wielding the stand like a weapon and hitting the now covered figure in the back.

CRACK.

"OUCH!"

She dove after its feet. The two toppled onto the floor, the intruder hitting its head on the side of the bed platform. It stopped thrashing, and the room became dead silent.

Still shaking, with tears running down her cheeks, Charity hurriedly removed the jacket from the being's face, nearly collapsing at the sight in front of her.

Laying utter still with eyes closed and mouth open lay the head elf of the North Pole.

Bernard.

"Oh shit."

Charity clumsily stepped over him, bending over to check for a pulse.

"Oh, no. Oh, God, please no."

She grabbed his hand. There was a pulse. And his chest was rising slowly, as though he were in a deep sleep. If it weren't for his bleeding cheek and bruised neck, Charity would have thought he looked peaceful.

"Charity!" Charity flinched. Terrible timing, Bernard.

"Yeah, dad?"

"Everything okay? I heard a loud noise!"

Charity took Bernard by the arms, his floppy hat falling off in the process, and pulled him into the hallway, continuing into the bathroom. "

"All good! Just...just dropped some art supplies."

She pathetically lied him down against the bathroom floor, turning on the sink.

"Do you need any help?" yelled Scott from downstairs.

Charity groaned in frustration.

"No, thanks!"

She slammed the bathroom door, still checking the water, which was turning fairly warm. Sticking a towel under the facet, she knelt down to Bernard, who was still unconscious.

Charity placed the hot towel against his temples, not really knowing if what she was doing would help at all. She sighed, pushing her back up against the cabinet. She would change the towel again soon, once it became cool. Another idea sprang into Charity's head, and she fished out a medical kit before hearing a faint moaning sound coming from the head elf.

Heating up the towel once more, she waited for any reaction. Within minutes, Bernard had managed to sit up on his own according, staring at the room around him, completely bewildered. His curly, black locks were sticking up at the back of his head.

"W-what happened?"

Charity broke down before she could explain.

"I'm so, so sorry, Bernard!" she wailed, pulling the towel above her nose. "I t-t-thought that I had...k-killed you. I thought you were a serial killer...or a rapist...or..."

Bernard studied the girl in front of him, her bright, red curls sticking to her tear streaked face. Even in a daze, his brown eyes were piercing to Charity, like a hawk whom never retires from a hunt.

"Ch...Charity." he said, though it was so soft Charity had to cease her sobbing to hear him.

"Charity, it's...fine. Don't mention it."

Don't mention it. Everything was don't mention it. But Charity wanted to. She wanted to scream it from the highest mountain, from the tallest tower: I TRIED TO KILL AN ELF OF SANTA.

Gulping the rest of her sadness down, Charity pressed the towel to Bernard's face for the second time. He closed his eyes briefly, apparently comforted by the warmth. He placed his hand where Charity's was, securing the towel in place and allowing Charity to slip her hand out from underneath.

His eyes reopened.

"B-bernard," said Charity, realizing how silly it must have looked for the two of them to be sitting on a bathroom floor. "How did you get in my room?"

The scratch on his cheek had barely stopped bleeding, red staining the back of the towel. He glanced at the fabric with mixed emotions.

"Sorry about this." He pointed to the white towel blotched with his blood.

Charity hiccuped.

"No, I'm the one who's sorry. And I can easily wash this." She began playing with her fingers, her thumbs tapping together anxiously.

"I...well, elves can, in a way, teleport." explained Bernard. "That's how I came to your house, though I wasn't expecting to end up in your room." Still keep the towel on his face, he leaned forward and pushed himself off of the tiled floor. His hair flopped in front of his face.

Charity tried to take him by the arm, as to assist him back to her room, but the head elf shrugged her off. Feeling slightly offended, Charity walked him towards the back hallway, checking to make sure the towel was still secured.

She felt her stomach flip when she took note of no bed in the room, only a section above the main floor that was piled with pillows and blankets.

'Guess this'll have to do.'

Bernard exhaled as he sat on the edge the platform. Charity picked up her easel that had fallen over earlier. Bernard raised one eyebrow to the best of his ability.

"You paint?"

She looked up at him briefly, before returning to tidying up the mess she had made. She slipped on her jacked and returned the canvas back onto the easel before answering.

"Yeah, when I can." She could help but add, "I thought you would already know that."

Bernard cocked his head. "How do you mean?"

"Well, that message you wrote on the window...were you looking into a crystal ball or something?"

Bernard laughed for the first time since Charity had first met him. A true, meaningful laugh.

"No, we aren't mediums. It's sort of like the teleporting thing, except I can't use that as often. It's more of an exception for...importance. For example, those slippers your wearing. I was simply given you the name of the sender."

Charity smiled. "Oh, yeah, those were really nice. Thank you, again."

Bernard smirked, but it quickly disappeared from his swollen face.

"That's why I came here." he muttered to himself.

"Sorry?"

He stood, faster than anticipated, and Charity caught him by the wrists.

His eyes followed down towards her grasp, and she released him as if making contact with him burned her. Not that she didn't like him. She was still teetering on whether or not he should be feared, being high-strung and whatnot. But talking to him made her realize that he was just another normal human. Or in this case, elf.

"I came here," Bernard cleared his throat, "to make sure that you didn't give up with Scott Calvin."

"My d-dad?"

"No, the mailman."

"Okay, okay." Charity rolled her eyes.

"What about him?"

Bernard let the towel fall out of his hand, onto the platform. "I can't stay for long." He continued, eyes darting up at the ceiling and around the room before settling on Charity.

"Just make sure you don't give up on this, either."

Charity swallowed, pushing her hair off to the side. "I won't. Ever. And...I'll support dad through this, too."

Bernard smiled softly. "I know you will."

Charity, panicking slightly, stared suddenly up at the head elf with eyes as big as saucepans. "What about mom? And...and Neil? What do I tell them?"

"Nothing. The truth if you can, but obviously that won't be easy."

He stepped back, turning sideways to see the falling snow once more.

"It gets better." he told her, still watching the outside world.

And he was gone.

Just like that.

There was no sign that he had even been there.

"I hope your right." Charity whispered.


End file.
